


Some Guys Don't

by Love2Slash



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love2Slash/pseuds/Love2Slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey takes Mike out for a meal in order to get to know him a little better, although he actually has rather a strange way of going about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Guys Don't

"You need to get to know Mike better," Donna tells Harvey in his office one morning, "on a more personal level." 

Of course Mike isn't even in the building yet. He's inevitably going to be late.

"Because?" Harvey asks. He makes a great show of feigning disinterest in her words by not even bothering to look up at her as he flicks through the first of the three files she's just laid across his desk.

"Because it'll be good for you," she says firmly, "and because he's just dying for you to take notice of him."

"I do notice him," Harvey retorts, rolling his eyes before glancing at his watch. "He's frequently conspicuous by his absence." 

Later, however, he reflects and comes to the conclusion that Donna's probably right. After all, what does he really know about his new associate except that the kid is not only smart and eager to please, but also possesses the uncanny ability to quote back verbatim everything he's ever read in his life. He's a good-looking boy too, but Harvey decides he needs to keep that thought to himself.

"You choose the venue, okay?" he says to a wide-eyed, smiling Mike when he invites him out after work for dinner. "Anywhere you like, my treat."

Actually, he's surprised at how much pleasure and excitement his invitation seems to have caused, because even though Mike tries his best to play it cool, he can't seem to stop smiling. Harvey persuades him to leave his bike at the office, instead summoning Ray to drive them to their destination, but if Harvey's thinking that his rookie is about to take advantage of his apparent burst of new-found generosity, he's soon proved wrong when Mike directs the car to an Irish pub on Third Avenue, an old-fashioned looking place with dark hardwood floors, real fireplaces and hard, bench-like seating.

"I thought you might have chosen something a bit more upmarket," he remarks, looking around him after their waitress directs them to their table.

"Why's that?" Mike asks, passing Harvey a menu. "Because of where I hosted my Rookie Dinner?"

Harvey nods. 

"Well, Rachel chose that place for me," Mike admits with an impish grin. "If it'd been left to me, I'd have probably just commandeered a few tables at McDonald's or something."

"Why do I think you're not even kidding?" Harvey says. For some reason, he has an urge to wink at Mike, which he barely manages to suppress. Instead, he eyes the younger man's loosened tie and unfastened top button, the way his shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, and also the fact that his suit jacket is now rolled into a wrinkled, messy ball on the seat beside him. His messenger bag has been dumped carelessly on top of it too, further creasing the already crushed-looking fabric. "Well, there's one thing I've learned about you tonight," he says, indicating Mike's certainly less than immaculate appearance. "You don't bother trying to stay looking smart once you're out of the office."

"I barely manage to stay looking smart when I'm in it," Mike says, grinning, then he gestures towards Harvey's still perfectly coiffed hair and pristine suit. "Unlike Mr Perfect sitting there," he adds.

Harvey straightens his back with a certain air of pride as he returns his eyes to the menu. "Nothing wrong with being well-groomed," he says. He scans the list of dishes on the menu. "Guess I'm having a cheeseburger then," he says with a frown after thirty seconds or so. "Not a lot of choice in this place, is there?"

"Actually, there is," Mike says, enthusiastically stabbing the menu with his finger. "Look, you can choose American, Swiss, Irish Cheddar or good old mozzarella cheese on your burger, or you can have all four if you're feeling particularly adventurous. And then of course there's a choice of Canadian or American bacon, mushrooms, onions, pickle, not to mention lettuce, tomato – "

"My mistake," Harvey says, holding up his hand in order to silence Mike's chatter, although if he's honest he finds his rookie's animated babbling rather endearing and actually has done from day one. "You're right, it’s an awe-inspiring choice. What about the wine to go with it? You prefer red or white?" 

Mike stares back. "Um … well, it's not really a wine kind of place," he says, uncertainly. "I mean, they've got the usual house wines if that's what you want, but the imported beers here are something else and one of the reasons why I like coming here. Those and the delicious burgers, of course." 

Harvey rolls his eyes. "What are you really saying, Mike? That you don't drink wine?" His tone is slightly mocking, although his smile seems genuine enough.

Mike wrinkles his nose. "Sometimes on Christmas I do," he says, "and maybe Thanksgiving. I'd always rather have a beer though. Is that so bad?" 

"No," Harvey says, his brown eyes twinkling. "Just seems a little … unsophisticated." 

"Okay, so let me guess," Mike says, shaking his head. "Not only do I have to spend mega bucks on designer suits to even stand a chance of clients taking me seriously, I also need to be able to impress them with my taste in wine and fancy food too, right?" 

"It's just the way things are," Harvey tells him firmly, "so you'd better get used to it, kid. Next time, I get to choose the venue, okay? We'll go somewhere where they at least have a proper wine list on offer, and we'll continue your education there."

Mike nods, grinning cheerfully. _Next time,_ Harvey had said. He's glad there's going to be a next time, even if it's to some stuffy club where he won't have a clue what he's actually eating or which fork he ought to use. Just that there's going to be a _next time_ is enough.

For Harvey, too, it's more than just a throwaway remark, because despite his reservations when Donna had first suggested it, he has to admit he's actually really enjoying being with Mike off the clock, and he can't help but let his young associate's enthusiasm for just about _everything_ rub off on him. It's infectious, and besides, when Mike's frequent smiles light up his whole face, Harvey isn't really surprised to notice that it makes _his_ heart feel that little bit lighter too, and when he bites into his cheeseburger after it's served to their table twenty minutes later, he also has to admit that it's every bit as delicious as Mike had claimed it would be. 

"Hmm, well let's see now," Harvey says, his tone light and teasing when he eventually pushes his plate away having demolished his burger, although he's left most of his fries. "I now know that you have excellent taste in burgers. At least we can mark that one down as a positive."

Mike looks at him, a momentary shadow of uncertainty clouding his face. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asks doubtfully.

"Oh, nothing to worry about really," Harvey assures him, "but - well, let's face it kid, you really are just like a long list of _don'ts,_ aren't you?"

"I'm what?" Mike asks as he munches on his last mouthful of burger. "A list of _don'ts_? What does that even mean?"

Harvey watches him in amusement. "It means," he says, settling back and draping a casual arm over the back of his seat, "that there seem to be lots of things that you _don't_ do that maybe you really should. As in you _don't_ do Haute cuisine, you _don't_ do fine wine and you _don't_ remember not to talk with your mouth full. That's three to begin with." 

"Are they crimes in Harvey Specter's world, then?" Mike asks mischievously, as he crams a handful of Harvey's leftover fries into his mouth with his fingers. 

"No," Harvey admits, grimacing, "but that's not a complete list of your _don'ts,_ is it?"

Mike waits until he's finished chewing this time and then he swallows in an exaggerated fashion. "Oh?" he asks, his blue eyes dancing. "Why? What else is it that you think I _don't_ do?" He smiles, finding that he even enjoys being teased by Harvey. After all, it's _Harvey_ , isn't it? 

"Well, you don't ever turn up early to work for a start."

"Well, no," Mike concedes, picking up his beer before draining the bottle and then waving the empty when their waitress walks by in order to request another. "But don't I make up for that those times when I stay there all night proofing briefs and then blow you away in the morning with my awesomeness at what I found?" His last few words sound rather slurred and Harvey shakes his head.

"You don't seem to know when you've had enough to drink, either," he remarks.

"What?" Mike is incredulous. "Harvey, I've only had three. That's not a lot of beer!"

"Four," Harvey corrects, "and your eyes started watering after two and a half! You’re a lightweight, Ross."

"Ahh, that's what Trevor always called me," Mike admits ruefully. "A lightweight." 

"And there's another one," Harvey continues, warming to his theme. "If that loser Trevor is anything to go by, you don't choose your friends wisely enough either." He stops, watching as Mike uses the rest of the leftover fries to mop up the last swirls of ketchup from his plate before licking his fingers clean. "Oh, and you clearly don't possess any flatware in that apartment of yours either," he adds. "Either that or no-one ever taught you how to use a knife and fork properly."

"Tastes better when you use your hands," Mike says, and then, as if by way of compromise, he picks up his napkin in order to wipe his greasy fingers. "Hey, you know," he adds, "this stuff you're telling me about myself? It's really just like a first date conversation, but in reverse." 

He sees Harvey narrow his eyes slightly, and suddenly he blushes at his choice of words. "Oh, but you know the kind of thing I mean," he rushes on quickly, "like on a first date you'll say 'tell me about yourself, what kind of things do you like to do, blah blah blah', except you seem to be homing in on all the things I _don't_ do."

"Firstly, I would only ever talk about myself on a first date," Harvey replies smoothly, "and secondly, I've always found that knowing the things that people _don't_ do is actually a lot more revealing about them than a whole long list of the things they enjoy doing." 

"You'd better tell Facebook they're doing it wrong then," Mike retorts. "They clearly need a _dislike_ button instead."

"Did I just hear you say you're on your first date?" their waitress asks them, as she deposits a new bottle of beer in front of Mike along with another scotch for Harvey. "You sure make a cute couple." She leans conspiratorially towards Mike and whispers in his ear before throwing a smile at Harvey over her shoulder as she leaves.

"What did she say?" he asks, even more curious as Mike's previous blush only deepens. 

"She said you were a keeper," Mike replies, laughing nervously, "and that you were 'mighty fine'."

"Girl's got good taste," Harvey says. He grins at Mike, and Mike's heart soars. "So," Harvey adds. "What else did I miss?" 

"What? That was all she said."

"No, I mean, what else _don't_ you do?"

"Oh." Mike thinks for a moment. "Okay, so I don't really cook," he answers truthfully. "Not very often, anyway."

Harvey raises his eyebrows. "You don't say?" he drawls in mock surprise. 

"Yeah," Mike says, with a little shake of his head. "Well, I don't really get the time, and besides, why bother cooking when you have Mr Chong's just around the corner? Or King's Pizza Delivery, or good old KFC for that matter?"

"How about so you don't give yourself a heart attack before you're thirty?" Harvey replies dryly. 

"Says the man who frequents the hot-dog cart outside the office," Mike shoots back. "You do know what they put into those things, don't you?"

"Never mind me," Harvey says dismissively. "We're talking about you."

"So it's not actually a first date then?" Mike says, giggling nervously. _Oh fuck,_ he thinks. _Why did I just say that? And for that matter, why did I even order another beer? Harvey's right, I am a lightweight._

"You are," Harvey agrees.

"What?" Mike's eyes widen in shock. "Did I just say all that out loud? Oh, shit." He reaches for his beer but Harvey grabs it and moves it out of his reach before pushing a glass of water towards him instead. 

"No more beer, rookie," Harvey tells him. "I want you clear-headed for the Merson deposition tomorrow. But seriously, no wonder you have no real appreciation for fine food if you never do any proper cooking yourself."

"And you're an accomplished chef, I suppose?" Mike asks meekly, obediently sipping his water.

"I'm a man of many talents, yes," Harvey replies smoothly. "So come on, anything else you _don't_ do?"

Mike looks over at him and sees his dark eyes, compelling and expectant.

"Well, there's the drugs, I guess," he says self-consciously. "Which is actually a good thing, right? That I don't do _that_ any more?" 

Harvey raises one eyebrow as if he doesn't quite believe him.

"Harvey, I don't," Mike protests. "I swear. And I won't again, I promise. We have a deal, right?"

"Like we had a deal before Louis held a gun to your head?"

"Yeah well," Mike says, not to be put off. "Now I know better, I'd try think of at least a hundred and forty-six other choices I had instead."

"Or you'd come and tell me," Harvey says, his dark eyes suddenly very serious. "You do know that you can trust me, Mike, right?"

"I do," Mike says fervently. "And I want you to be able to do the same and that's why I need you to believe me."

Harvey shakes his head. "Relax, junior," he says. "Actually, I do trust you, and I do believe you."

"Well, that's good then," Mike says, sighing in obvious relief.

"So is there anything else I should know?" Harvey asks after a pause. He's smiling gently now and his head is tipped slightly to one side, and because it's not a look he's used to seeing on Harvey's face, Mike smiles back and fidgets a little, suddenly feeling awkward and shy.

"Like what?" he asks with a little shrug of his shoulders. He actually has an idea of something he would really like to tell Harvey, but his heart starts to thud at the mere thought of it, and so stubbornly he pushes it away.

There's another pause as Harvey sips his scotch. "Oh, I don't know, like anything," he says. "Like maybe you don't do Halloween parties or – "

"Why? Do _you_ do Halloween parties?" Mike asks, surprised. 

"I love Halloween parties," Harvey says, nodding. His expression is deadly serious, and Mike really has no idea if he's joking or not.

"Let me guess," he says. "I bet you always wear a devil costume," and Harvey laughs.

The bar is a lot emptier now, and Mike glances at his watch, surprised to see just how late it is. 

"Any last confessions before we both head for home?" Harvey asks him. Again there's that slight curve of his lips and his eyes are twinkling, and suddenly Mike's heart is thudding again as his previous thought resurfaces, and it seems he can't quite catch his breath. He presses his eyes tightly shut, albeit briefly, and when he looks back at Harvey, he sees that the older man is watching him closely.

"Mike?" 

It's a hard call, but Mike wonders if perhaps the time is right, because it's hard enough living the lie Harvey already knows about, without keeping yet another secret from Harvey himself. It's never been a secret he's wanted to keep before either, but it's been bad enough facing the jealousy that went along with being Harvey's associate in the bullpen, without giving Kyle and the others extra ammunition, but somehow it's different with Harvey. He wants him to know the truth. 

"Well …" he says uncertainly. "There _is_ something." 

"Yeah?" Harvey asks. He eyes Mike carefully, even more curious when the younger man drops his gaze and starts to fiddle with his leather watch strap, an action which clearly betrays his nerves.

"Mike, what is it?"

Mike huffs out a breath, still without looking up. "I don't really know how to say it," he confesses.

"Well, just spit it out."

Mike looks over at Harvey then and Harvey notices that his associate's normally clear blue eyes suddenly seem troubled and clouded. 

"What is it?" Harvey repeats, leaning forward. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Mike says with a shuddery little sigh. "I guess."

Harvey eyes him curiously. "Mike, what is it? Just say it."

"Well, okay then," Mike says nervously. He takes a breath. "It - it's girls," he says, stumbling over his words. "You know, I mean, like, women."

"Right," Harvey says, leaning back again and letting out his breath. He seems relieved, as if he'd thought Mike was about to tell him he'd murdered his grandmother or something. He smirks as he lifts his glass back to his mouth. "Is this your way of telling me you're still a virgin, Mike?" he says mockingly, "because I must say that wouldn't surprise me at all."

"No," Mike says, again going red. "That - that's not what I'm saying."

Harvey leans forwards again, frowning slightly. "Mike?" he questions, and then when Mike keeps his eyes firmly on the table, he adds, "Hey Mike, you know you have plenty of time to find the right girl, don't you? I mean, I know the work schedule's really tough right now, but – "

"No," Mike says quietly, willing Harvey to understand as he stares steadfastly at the table. "It – it's not even anything like that. You were asking me about what I _don't_ do. Well, I don't … _do_ girls." He looks up at that point and meets Harvey's steady gaze with eyes which are clearly afraid but also somehow beseeching and hopeful.

For such a perceptive man and a self-proclaimed people reader, Harvey, for once in his life, is slow to catch on.

"Oh," he says at last. "I see." 

There's a silence, the longest one of the evening by far.

"Does it make any real difference?" Mike says stiffly when the void that now seems to have opened up between them becomes too much, and dropping his eyes to the table again, he steels himself for Harvey's reply. _It shouldn't, you know,_ he wants to shout. _I'm still the same me. I'm still Mike._ But instead he says nothing and keeps his head down as he waits for the all-too-familiar sneer or joke, neither of which he can bear to see or hear from Harvey.

"Well … I guess it _might_ do," Harvey eventually replies softly.

Instantly, Mike feels his heart crash with desperate disappointment. All of his hard work, all of his efforts to get Harvey to trust to him, to believe in him, to be glad to have taken him on – not to mention his hope that Harvey might one day see him as more than just a subordinate or a colleague, or at least a friend if not more – all of it wiped out in a single second of misjudged honesty. 

His face is scarlet now, and he digs into his pocket for his wallet, flipping it open, peeling off a twenty for his half of the meal and dropping it onto the table, despite Harvey's protests – and all this without speaking to or even making eye contact with Harvey. Then he's grabbing his jacket and bag and rushing away from the table, threading his way towards the exit, his eyes smarting as he tries to avoid the inevitably curious stares of the few remaining patrons, angry with himself for being on the verge of tears before even reaching the door, and then even angrier when he's out on the cold street and he's unable to prevent them from falling.

Less than a minute later, as he's stumbling blindly along the street, he hears Harvey shout his name behind him and he breaks into a run, swiping angrily at the tears with his fingers as he does so. Leather soled shoes loudly pound the street behind him and suddenly he feels a hand closing on his arm, and then Harvey is grabbing him and swinging him round, slamming him into the brick wall beside them, and all the breath in his body huffs out painfully.

"Get the fuck offa me," he grunts breathlessly, as he tries in vain to shake himself free and his bag crashes to the ground, but Harvey just grips him more tightly.

"What the hell's wrong with you, kid?" Harvey hisses at him, and over the other man's shoulder, blurry through his tears, Mike can just about see a young couple who stop to glance at them with curious eyes before they hurry on their way. "Why did you run from me like that?"

Obstinately silent, his head down, Mike refuses to meet Harvey's eyes.

"Look at me!" Harvey orders, shaking him by the shoulders, and when Mike still refuses to comply, Harvey grasps his chin roughly and tilts his head back, forcing the younger man to meet his gaze. As soon he sees the tears, the lower lip trembling, he loosens his hold. "Mike, you've got this so wrong," he tells him when he thinks he realises what the problem is. "You think I disapprove of the fact that you're into men? Is that it?"

"Well, don't you?" Mike accuses bitterly. "That's more or less what you said to me back there."

"When?" Harvey challenges, frowning. "I categorically said no such thing."

Mike frowns too, clearly confused, although he's still avoiding looking at Harvey. "You - you did," he blusters. "When you said, it - it _might_ matter."

To Mike's surprise, Harvey laughs a little then and he shakes his head. "Mike, Mike," he says. "Haven't I taught you anything at all? Because here's another _don't_ for you, okay? You don't _ever_ jump to a definite conclusion based on one very short and very possibly ambiguous statement, and you certainly don't ever settle for your first interpretation of any such statement without exploring at least another ninety-nine possibilities first."

Mike looks up then, and with relief he sees neither anger nor disgust or even disappointment staring back at him from Harvey's warm brown eyes, but instead only genuine affection and a steady, gentle reassurance. 

"Not a hundred and forty six?" he asks, his voice small. He knows he's overreacted now, and he feels young, silly and intensely vulnerable, exactly the side of him he hadn't wanted Harvey to see.

"Maybe give or take a few," Harvey says, smiling. 

Suddenly Mike's aware of how very close they are, and that Harvey is still holding onto him, his thigh pressed against Mike's, his breath hot in Mike's face as he speaks. It's all too much for Mike, too tempting, and he suddenly leans forwards, bumping his lips against Harvey's in what turns out to be a very clumsy attempt at a kiss.

"Oh God, Harvey, I - I'm sorry," he gasps, pulling back, his eyes wide in shock and embarrassment at what he's just done. "I'm so sorry." 

Dropping his head in shame, he tries to pull away, but Harvey still holds him securely and then he's pulling him closer, again pressing his fingers to Mike's chin, although much more gently this time, and he's tilting his head upwards until they're gazing into one another's eyes. 

"You still don't get it, do you?" Harvey murmurs. "The reason why I said it _might_ matter?" He leans in, inclining his mouth towards Mike's, waiting, his lips close but not quite touching, almost as if he's seeking permission, and then as Mike closes his eyes and slips his arms willingly around Harvey's neck, Harvey captures his mouth in a firm but gentle kiss, stroking his face gently with one hand and pulling him closer with the other, before licking into his mouth and sweeping his tongue deep inside.

When he eventually pulls back, Mike is gasping, his heart is aflutter and his knees are weak.

"You don't know how long I've been wanting to do that," Harvey says, gently smoothing the last of Mike's tears away with the pad of his thumb.

"You don't know how long I've been wanting you to do it too," Mike gasps happily when he finally gets his breath back and can trust himself to speak.

"Then you don't mind if I do it again?" Harvey murmurs, still holding Mike close, and dazedly, Mike shakes his head.

"I guess some _don'ts_ are okay then, right?" he asks with another shy smile.

"Absolutely," Harvey agrees, returning the smile as he leans forward again and kisses Mike on the forehead before again seeking out his lips. "It would seem that some _don'ts_ are perfectly fine." 


End file.
